Category: Criminal/Illegal

(I am working in a ‘Mom & Pop’ coffee shop, where things are run by an owner who is hardly around and no managers. Baristas only work with coworkers on the morning shift. This takes place on a weekday afternoon with only me working and few customers around.)

Customer: “It’s my birthday. I get something for free, right?”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t do that here.”

(The customer points to brownies, which are our most expensive pastry item.)

Customer: “I can get one of those for free, right?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we just don’t give free items to people on their birthdays.”

Customer: “But it’s my birthday!”

Me: “Maybe Starbucks down the street has that sort of item. We’re a privately owned Mom & Pop coffee shop, and our owner doesn’t offer that sort of thing.”

Customer: “Get your manager. He’ll give it to me.”

Me: “He’s not around at the moment.”

Customer:*points to brownies again* “How much are those?”

Me: “$2.25.”

(The customer wanders away. I see him meander over to some other customers enjoying their coffee at a table and strikes up a conversation with them. This isn’t unusual, as our coffee shop is quite a neighborhood social spot. After a few minutes, he begins talking to another customer. Then, he comes back to counter.)

Customer:*dumps load of change on counter* “How much will this buy me?”

(I realize that he had been hitting up the other customers for change. I suddenly realize that there is something very off about this customer, and am a bit scared, but because I am alone I decide the best thing to do is help him and get him out of the coffee shop as quickly as possible.)

Me:*counting* “You have about $3.00.”

Customer: “What can that buy me?”

Me:*points to menu* “Anything under $3.00 on that menu.”

Customer:*points to brownies* “Can it buy me that?”

Me: “Yes.”

Customer:*points to cookies* “Can it buy me that?”

Me: “Yes.”

Customer: “Okay, I’ll take one of those and one of those.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but cookies are $1.40. With the brownie it will cost you $3.65. You don’t have enough money for both. But you can buy two cookies.”

Customer: “Okay. I’ll take that.” *points to cookie* “Can you microwave it for me?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we don’t have a microwave. I can put it in the convection oven for you.”

Customer: “You don’t have a microwave?”

Me: “No.”

Customer:points to toaster* “Put it in there.”

Me: “In the toaster?”

Customer: “Yeah.”

Me:*reluctantly* “Alright.”

(As I toast the cookie, the customer pulls out a cellphone and plays around with it.)

(The cookie pops up from the toaster, which I put in a bag and take to the counter to give to the customer. That’s when two cops enter from the coffee shop’s front door and two cops enter from the coffee shop’s side door, surrounding the customer.)

Cop: “All right, buddy, you’re coming with us.”

Customer:*reaches for cookie and change* “All right, I just need to get my stuff.”

Cop: “She’ll hold onto it for you. Just come outside now.”

(The customer leaves coffee shop with cops, where he is handcuffed and taken away. Another cop comes back in to explain that he had been panhandling in all of the stores on our street, acting just as erratic as he had in our coffee shop. Several of the other store owners had alerted the cops after he left their businesses, and they followed the trail of weird to our coffee shop.)

(I work at a gas station. We have a lot of rules to prevent under-aged people from getting cigarettes. I’ve just graduated from high school a few weeks before, and am still 17. A kid that I don’t really know, but goes to my old high school walks in with his mom.)

Kid: “Hey, can I get a pack of [cigarettes].”

Me: “I’m going to need to see your ID first.”

Kid: “C’mon, you know me. We went to high school together.”

Me: “Sorry, but if you look underage, I have to card you.”

(He says he understands, and calmly walks out. His mom follows him out without buying anything. About two minutes later, she comes back in stays right at the newspapers near the door, and pretends to be looking around for about a minute, looking at the papers.)

Lady:*loudly* “Oh, there it is.” *walks right up to the register*

Lady: “I forgot to get the paper earlier.”

Me: “That’ll be 75 cents.”

Lady: “Oh, yeah. Can I also get a pack of [cigarettes]?”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but your son just came in and didn’t have his ID. I can’t sell the same cigarettes to you right now.”

Lady: “Well, what if they aren’t for him! They are for his dad.”

Me: “Sorry, ma’am. It’s against store policy.”

(She’s clearly angry at this point. My manager notices and is already on her way to the register.)

Lady: “Well, I wanna see your manager!”

Me: “The lady would like to speak to you.”

Lady: “Yeah, this little a**hole won’t sell me cigarettes!”

Manager: “Well, the problem is it’s against store policy to sell cigarettes to you since he had to deny your son.”

Lady: “Well, in the state of Pennsylvania, it’s illegal to deny a purchase of any kind to a customer!”

Me: “Actually it’s illegal to buy cigarettes for a minor.”

Lady: “Well, I want to talk to corporate and tell them about this!”

(My manager gets the phone under the register, calls corporate, and explains the situation. However, before my manager can finish talking, the lady grabs the phone from my manager.)

Lady:*to the phone* “Yeah, can you tell these a**holes they have to sell me cigarettes?!”

(We can hear the voice from the phone, and the moment corporate stops talking, the lady slams the phone down throws the paper at us.)

(I’m watching the register for a coworker on his break. A young man enters the store and sets a paper bag on the counter.)

Customer: “I need to do a return.” *empties contents of bag onto the counter*

(I pick up the two gas fittings: one has a tag, the other is completely stripped and destroyed. I look at the receipt and the one with the tag isn’t on it.)

Me: “Sir, this fitting isn’t on this receipt. Did you have another receipt for it?”

Customer: “No. I don’t have a receipt for it because I didn’t pay for it.”

Me:*stunned* “Wh-what? Did… did you just take it then?”

Customer: “Yeah, I was going to pay for it and I realized I didn’t have enough money to buy it, so I just took it home. But it didn’t fit, either. So my buddy came out and fixed the problem for me and I don’t need it anymore. Sorry.”

Me: “Oh, um, well… okay. I’m just going to keep this one, then.”

(I take the stolen fitting and place it in the return box, but then I look at the other fitting.)

Me: “You really did a number on this one, though.”

Customer: “Yeah, it was the wrong thread, I think. I tried to twist it on but I ended up stripping it.”

Me: “Well, I can’t return this it since you destroyed it. It’s yours for life now.”

(I hand him back his receipt and the broken fitting.)

Customer: “Well, I thought I’d try anyway. Thank you.” *leaves*

(The next customer in line is just as stunned as I am. He sets his things on the counter and watches the young man leave.)

Customer: “Did he just return something he stole and apologized for it because it was the wrong size?”

(I nod.)

Customer: “Man, makes you wonder what he would have done if he actually stole the right part!”

Manager: “That’s good to hear. Glad you’re not feeling guilty or anything.”

Fraudster: “For… what?”

Manager: “For the fraud orders you’ve been placing on our website.”

Fraudster: “Uh…”

Manager: “I’ll be honest with you: I know what you’re doing. I’ve known for a couple of weeks now. So, tell me, how many cards have you stolen?”

Fraudster:*scared* “Ju-just two—”

Manager: “Hmm, okay. Well, I work pretty close with [other state’s police department]. So, I’m gonna give you two choices. You can either turn yourself in like the good guy I’m sure you are. Or you can just sit there while I have them down there in a few hours, embarrassing you and your family.”

Fraudster: “O-oh, God. L-look, I—”

Manager: “I’ve got them on speed dial.”

Fraudster: “I’ll turn myself in!”

Manager:*extremely cheerful* “Oh, good. Now, what time should they expect you so I can let them know?”

(I work in a large retail center, and we are highly understaffed. I work in the outdoor department, and stop to help a caretaker with a child; they’re looking for a baseball glove.)

Me: “Hello, do you need some help?”

Caretaker: “I’m just trying to get this d*** kid to wear this glove.”

Me: “…Excuse me?!”

Caretaker: “Yeah, I work as this brat’s caretaker, and he won’t put his hands in the glove.”

(I lean down to help the child, speaking softly and quietly, as he seems frightened. This only seems to enrage the caretaker further.)

Caretaker: “How dare you, b****… talking s*** to him about me?! You’re a d*** stupid loser and that’s why you work here!”

Me: “Pardon me, ma’am, I wasn’t talking about you. And please, don’t call me stupid; you do not know me.”

Caretaker: “Why do you work here if you’re not an idiot?”

Me: “I’m still working on my RN, so I can be more than a caretaker with a nasty attitude.”

(The caretaker walks away, still cussing at the child. I call security and ask them to follow her and be sure she doesn’t hurt the boy. Meanwhile, I am called up front to work on the register. Of course, the same caretaker is in line.)

(I finish ringing her up, but before she pushes her cart away, two sheriffs walk up and place handcuffs on her. Unbeknownst to me, she had, in fact, struck the child after I dealt with her the first time.)